intrepidly go
by ShadowsClaw
Summary: When Luke had fallen at recess playing handball with the "big kids", he'd thought explaining the hole his brand-new jeans to his mom was going to be the worst of his problems. He'd been wrong. (AU)
1. Chapter 1

**intrepidly go**

part one:

_We will live, then we will see._

**CHAPTER ONE**

When Luke had fallen at recess playing handball with the "big kids", he'd thought explaining the hole his brand-new jeans to his mom was going to be the worst of his problems.

He'd been wrong.

There was complete silence.

He was too busy trying to convince himself he wasn't scared to make any sort of sound. He was petrified. His cheeks felt hot, his breath had long since caught somewhere in his chest, and his hands couldn't stay still by his side. He couldn't stop them shaking. He'd wedged himself into the musky coat closet in the entryway and the dust was seizing into his throat. She was wailing something unintelligible down the hall – and Luke vaguely heard what might have been his name and what he thought could only be an occasional anguished moan. But he didn't really care what she was saying. It hardly mattered, did it? Not to terrified little boy. Luke pushed himself farther into the embrace of an ancient fur coat. He wished she'd stop. He'd do anything to make her stop.

It'd happened before, many times, his mother - eagerly awaiting his return - breathlessly smiling when he waddled back home from school, very suddenly beginning to shake. Her eyes fluttering, a hideous green pouring from her mouth, her eyes, her ears, nose. Luke hardly had the time to even race away from the kitchen before her voice would come out in those horrid rasps. He told himself it would pass, because it always did. And then she would find him later, tucked into the corner, knees to his chin. She'd laugh at him. "Whatcha doin', baby? Playin' hide and seek with me?" A cheeky smile and her eyelids would crease around the edges. "Come on, time for dinner."

And so it did happen. And so she came and laughed and fed him and whisked him off to bed because it'd been a "long, hard school day" and "my baby needs his strength." He didn't feel strong. His throat was dry when his mom tucked him into bed and kissed his forehead. He _wanted_ to feel strong.

"See you in the morning." She said.

"'Night, Mom."

"I love you."

His voice lingered. "'Night."

He felt the phantom presence of her fingers ghosting across his skin long after she'd gone.

Luke almost lost his nerve in the harrowing stillness. But he'd being planning this for far too long to bail out now. Hardwood floors felt cold underneath his feet and his drawers caught on their railings as he pulled them as slowly as he could. For a ten year old, he'd been very patient: he'd hidden a duffel-bag beneath his mattress and had been siphoning off the packaged snacks his mom packed for his lunch into it for nearly two weeks. Some fig cookies and _Milano _singles. It was a goodly supply of mostly sugar, but he was a ten year old, and he didn't care. Didn't know to care. Beside them, were haphazardly rolled bills bound with a grocery store rubber band. There'd been a stunning number of school field trip that needed fifteen dollars for the transport fees – or so he'd told his mom. Seventy five dollars was certainly not an astronomical amount, especially not for what he planned. Even he understood that. Maybe not well enough.

"It is what it is," he mumbled to himself and zipped the bills into the singular inside pocket of the bag; one lined with an unraveling mesh.

It'd been much harder to plan for his clothes; certainly he didn't have more than two weeks worth and he couldn't really pack them and then not wear anything without raising his mom's suspicion – but now it hardly mattered how many times he'd worn his underwear – he threw everything clean or dirty into the bottom of his duffel bag and prayed the stairs won't creak under his feet.

They didn't.

He had to trace through the kitchen before he reached the front door and last night's dinner hadn't been put away. His mom must have been tired. She was often tired after one of her… episodes. He blinked at the baked carrots, at the old glass dish they'd been cooked in. The blue tile on his kitchen counters. His mom was fond of knick-knacks, always had been, and the mantle above the sink certainly showed that. Some god or another portrayed in little statuettes had only a vague semblance to what might have been a person.

"Goodbye." He whispered to them, clay eyes staring lifelessly back at him. "Take care of Mom for me."

He hoped they would.

O

It wasn't the hunger that got to him first. He'd seen homeless on the streets before and he'd thought he understood. The "hungry and homeless" signs or "hungry and willing to work." Hunger seemed the main operator. His mother always kept a bag of sweet, red apples in her car for those they found helpless on the street. He'd expected the hunger. But it was freshly spring, and spring was _wet_. So very, very wet and humid and miserably _cold_. The chill was unbearable. It soaked in through his clothes and the humidity of the night saturated his skin. When he breathed, it felt like he was inhaling ice. He'd never felt as cold, never as truly cold, as he felt now.

It might have been a warmer night for the season at the tail end of March, but his toes were still blue. He tried at first, to find a place behind an eve – behind an old store front he vaguely recognized from trips outside of car windows – but the dumpster was there and the smell made him turn up his nose. He thought the public bench in front of the store might have been a good place, but from the corner of his eye, he could see someone else already laying down and he spooked. His mom hadn't been too out of it to instill some sort of "stranger danger" warning in his mind.

In the end, he found his way to a park, a few miles from the main shopping district. It might have been six or so from his house. It seemed pitiful this was as far he could go. He'd been here before, to play baseball with some vague acquaintances, but now it was empty. And the grass was wet. Gorgeously green from the gentle rainfall of yesterday, though Luke found it was hard to appreciate its beauty when it had become his bed. He laid atop his duffle bag as a mock buffer. His legs felt tired.

It took hours: maybe it was the occasional snapping of twigs, or perhaps it was the drip, drip, drip of the nearby creek, or the unduly pounding of his heart. His throat felt constricted and dry. He couldn't sleep. His hands shook. He was cold, but his face felt flushed. He felt wet and clammy, but the damp air wasn't letting him dry. It seemed the longer he lay there, the more he heard: the trickling creek became the roar of a hurricane, the slightest whisper of a mouse's paw became a lion waiting to pounce.

He wanted to go home.

He knew he'd regret it.

"I'm not scared." He whispered to himself and finally ended the screaming silence. Something was creeping softly out in the forest. Another snap of a twig. A rustle of leaves. "I'm not scared."

Even he knew he was lying.

O

He didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke, the sun was just peeking over the line of oak trees that guarded the eastern side of the playing field. He'd slept inside of an old, rusting backstop. Not an incredibly glamorous hotel room, he knew. His cheek was numb. The morning dew had soaked through his cloth duffel bag and made its way to his head. He was still wet. And he was still cold. And now the hunger hit. He unzipped the bag and noted he had two options – cookies or cookies. He chose cookies. His throat still hurt as he swallowed them. He hadn't brought water. He was one night from home and already felt more miserable than he ever had. His mom always gave him cold milk in the morning and some fruit.

He chewed slowly, carefully, noticing his mouth was slowly but surely filling his mouth with saliva. He mentally encouraged that. It hurt less to swallow that way. His eyes wandered. Across the single field an old, wooden sign designated this as public space – a public field of Westport. It was cheery, with lazy, thick yellow lettering, but it did nothing to brighten his mood. He hadn't even managed to leave Westport and he already felt horrible. He crumbled the wrapper in his hand. He counted quickly. He'd have enough – if he ate only two a day – for six days. Which was unfortunate, because he was still hungry and he'd already finished his breakfast. "It wasn't looking good for the good guys." As his mom always said. Or guy, he corrected himself. Singular. Alone. The hard plastic tray bit into his palm.

He wanted to feel like those heroes in the Sunday morning cartoons his mom let him watch. Valiant and proud in the face of adversity. Vaguely, he heard a bird chirp. He heard the rustling of something in the dense trees. Not much of a fanfare – but he didn't let himself deflate. It was good enough. He had seventy five dollars, some shitty snacks, and the force of will. He'd make it to where ever he damned pleased.

"California." He said, remembering the pleasant day he'd spent on a beach there once with his mom – with frigid water and hot sand. She'd been visiting some wealthy college friend at her vineyard on the Central Coast. "I'm going to California." He repeated. Louder. The birds didn't seem especially impressed.

"I'm going." He said to the pigeon.

It cocked its head.

"Fine." he grumbled.

He'd just begun to walk up the slope to the gravel parking lot when he heard a familiar voice.

"Luke?"

He spun. A man stood, holding a young boy's hand. He had a mitt and a kid's slugger over his shoulder while his son was holding a ball in his free hand. "It is you! Come here, wanna catch with us?"

It was Darren. A boy from his school. One of the aforementioned acquaintances he'd played with before. He never spoke when the teacher was and always turned in his homework. Always raised his hand before he spoke and ran the mile faster than everyone. Well, everyone save Luke. He was almost a friend. He remembered his dad as the one who'd taken them all out to play here before. An exuberant, cheerful, and goodnatured stay-at-home dad married a meticulous but snotty business woman. Luke didn't think he was much like his son at all. Darren smiled shyly and waved Luke over.

Luke cast a glance to his bad on his shoulder and then back to the two. Darren's father, Mr. Jones, gave him a bemused smile. "You brought your gear?" He asked.

Luke blinked. Of course. He thought the duffel bag was his sport's bag. Better to keep it that way.

"Yeah, but it broke." The lie came smoothly off his tongue.  
"Broke?"

"It tore. At the thumb."

Mr. Jones laughed. "Let me see it, I'll see if I can sew it back together."

"No." Luke said quickly. He swallowed down the squeakiness rising in his voice. "It's okay, my mom said she would."

Mr. Jones nodded. "It's fine, you can use Darren's." He grinned cheekily and ruffled his son's hair. "Play ball!"

Luke was going to refuse anyway. He had better places to be. He didn't know where, but he knew it was anywhere but here.

_Play_. Luke blinked. A whistling, a soft echo of a voice brushing through his ears like a warm breeze. His shoulders fell. _Just play._

So he did.

They took turns in front of the backstop. Darren was a better batter but Luke was an excellent pitcher. Mr. Jones was the umpire, and though he was standing in the catcher's position, was really more of a cheerleader. It been a few hours maybe, he'd lost track of the time, but the sun was overhead and blazing down onto their heads. At least he was dry.

"Strike!" Mr. Jones called. "Nice throw, Luke!"

Darren tapped the bat against the ground and spit at the mark the plate had left from the last game.

"Again." He said softly. Luke could barely hear him. A keen determination was in his eyes and his fingers flexed over the rubber grip of the bat. His intensity made Luke dig in his heel. Mr. Jones leaned in closer, squatted down to the ground. He didn't need to, when the ball left Luke's hand in an overhand and soared to Darren, this time, he connected. A beautiful resounding ring left the bat and the ball disappearing into the thick of trees. Luke blinked.

"Nice hit, Monkey!" His dad said. Luke offered his agreement.

Darren smiled at the compliment and dipped his head down.

"But," Mr. Jones said, "I think that's the last we'll see of that ball."

Luke scanned the tree line, listened to the rushing water. He agreed.

"C'mon. Who's hungry? I'm hungry." Mr. Jones said. "I'll take you boys for lunch."

Lunch was a small sandwich shop on the corner across the street. It was still early, eleven, maybe eleven thirty, and the shop must have just opened because the pretty girl behind the counter actually almost seemed awake. He was given his choice of sandwich, which he ate half of. He stashed the rest into his bag along with a bag of salt and vinegar kettle chips that'd it come with. He didn't really want to eat the pickle, but Mr. Jones insisted. "They're good for ya!"

Luke was annoyed. There was a twisting pain in his gut he knew too well. It wasn't so much what the Jones' ate or how they apparently "spent every Sunday playing catch in the park" or how they laughed too loud – it was the obnoxious smiles they offered each other. Luke had never considered himself sentimental, had never compared his family to another's, but Mr. Jones and his son… They had such an easy charm with each other. It was something he'd never had with his mother, he… he was always on edge with her. He sat at her dinner table and ate the food she'd made for him and never let his eyes wander from her. They shouldn't have been so casual. How could they afford to be? Luke shook his head, _they _weren't crazy. _They _didn't need to worry. It must have been nice. Though it occurred to him he'd been unbelievably lucky to have run into them at the park – if not for the exercise then for the meal ticket. He didn't know who to thank for that.

He eyed the two warily.

The Jones took more time to eat than Luke had and they drank less water. Mr. Jones watched him, crunching coleslaw. Luke hated coleslaw. "Thirsty?"

Luke nodded. He'd already refilled his glass.

Mr. Jones wiped his mouth on a brown paper napkin glanced at his son. Darren gave a half smile back.

"Ready?" he asked

"Should we bring something for mom?"

Mr. Jones' omnipresent smile wavered. "Nah, I'm sure she'll fins something."

_So then, perhaps not as idyllic as you think?_

Luke licked his lips.

Darren nodded.

"Need a ride home, Luke?"

He shook his head.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm only a couple of blocks over."

That wasn't true, though he had no intention of telling Mr. Jones that.

The man's brow furrowed. "If you're sure…"

Luke nodded, more rapidly this time.

The man sighed and looked to his son. "Ready, Monkey?"

"Ready." Darren turned to him. "See you Monday, Luke."

No you won't. "See ya."

He sat at the table for a while longer, as long as he dared, it was a glorious sunny day and the table was outside. The wire chair seemed to cut into his legs through his still annoyingly wet jeans, but he tried not care. The grass was a vibrant green and the sweet smell of wildflowers and fresh bread made him dizzy. The warmth felt good on his back. It wasn't until waitstaff began looking at him strangely, a little kid all by himself, that he finally left.

Now, he knew that the United States was not known for its impeccable public transport, especially not in an antiquated Northwestern state like Connecticut, but he also knew he'd garner too much attention on an _Amtrak_. Careful business men took _Amtrak_. Sloppy college students took _Amtrak. _Not ten year olds with no true destination to speak of. Besides, he thought the closest station might have been Bridgeport – maybe twenty minutes or so by the car he didn't have – and it was too expensive anyway. He crept through bustling city streets until he found a significantly less busy, significantly sketchier, and significantly cheaper ticket booth. _Greyhound_.

His feet hurt.

The woman, old, very fat, and with teeth the same color of her straw-yellow hair peered down at him through a bullet-proof teller's window. Her name tag said Heidi, at least, so Luke thought. She didn't look like a Heidi.

"Whadd'ya want?" Her voice told him years of heavy smoking had taken its toll. As did her breath. The smell of the station did not reassure him of its quality.

"Ticket. To California."

"You're a kid."

His gaze was unwavering. "I'd like a ticket, please."

She rolled her eyes and when she spoke her voice was a rasp. "Whatever." He heard the tell-tale clicking of her long nails on an ancient keyboard. She was not a fast typer. "Where?"

"California." He repeated.

She rolled her eyes. "_Where_ in California?"

He hesitated. "Central Coast."

She sighed deeply and loudly.

His unconscious seemed to answer for him. _Where was that vineyard?_

"Ventura." He ameliorated. "Ventura, California."

He heard her huff. "You can't afford Ventura, California."

"You don't know that." He said.

"You got three hundred on you?"

He blinked. That seemed like an expensive bus ride. He didn't even have half that. "Um…"

"What you got?"

"Seventy five." He answered honestly.

To her credit, she didn't laugh. "Look," she said, "I can get you to Fort Collins for..." she trailed off as she narrowed her eyes at the screen. It cast her face in blue. "Sixty. That's a good price. Two days travel. It's not going to get much better."

"Fort Collins?" he asked.

"Colorado."

"Colorado's not in California." Luke protested.

"Unless you want to end up in Furnace Creek, you're not getting to California."

He didn't want to end up in Furnace Creek. Even to him, the name Death Valley sounded like a bad omen.

"Fine."

"One-way?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You have family there?"  
He hesitated. "A family friend."

"Hmph." She didn't believe him.

_And? She's doesn't need to. She just needs to be quiet. _

"In Ventura," he clarified. "She'll send me money in Fort Collins."

Heidi regarded him for a moment through the window. She still didn't believe him, but at least now the possibility of just a very poor family vacation plan was apparent.

_I guess that works too. _

Click, click, click. He heard the whirring of a printer and through the window, a pale hand extended. "Money?"

Luke dropped his duffel bag and counted the bills kneeling on the floor. He was careful to stash his remaining fifteen in that same pocket. His fingers traced over the worn and water-stained canvas. _May Castellan_. It was written in a thick, black market that had bled over the years, but he would always know her writing. Her hands had gotten shakier, over the years. He swallowed thickly.

"Hey, kid, you alive down there?"

He slapped the money into her hand. She made a grand point of counting it, watching him not so subtly.

She passed him the ticket. "Leaves in twenty," jamming a thumb over her shoulder, "terminal D."

"Thanks."

"Mm-hm."

He slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Hey, kid."

He turned back to Heidi.

"Don't get yourself killed."

He kept walking.

O

It was a little cramped, but nothing like as horrible as he'd expected. When he'd been to California for the first time, he'd flown, and although that had been undoubtedly faster – he found the _Greyhound _actually had more leg room. This was good, not because he needed it – he stood only at a fearsome four eleven – but because that meant he could keep his duffle bag stashed securely at his feet and not below in the luggage compartment where he couldn't see it. As he'd expected, no one on the bus gave him a second glance. They were either too high or too weathered by life to care. Usually, both.

He spied what might have been a business man down on his luck, an old couple drenched in Navajo turquoise and cigarette smoke that had obviously "seen it all," a black-haired girl with really thick eyeliner, and more sickly looking people than he'd ever seen at one time. Was he on a bus or a moving hospital ward?

_More like a hospice unit. _His subconscious chuckled. He wasn't sure what that meant.

He sat down beside a gaunt-looking teenager with murky blue eyes lined in a thin red. Luke'd seen that before. One of his PE teachers liked to smoke when she thought no one watching. She was young – someone was always watching. She hadn't lasted long.

"Hi," was his curt greeting.

The teen's head lolled to the side against the headrest and his lips were parted in what might have passed for a smile. "Hey." He trailed his vowel and his breath smelled rancid. "Hey, hey, hey." He was just mumbling to himself. Luke ignored him.

"Hey!"

This almost sounded pointed. Luke glanced over to him. His eyes seemed to have cleared, almost, for a second, something about them seemed better. Maybe less dilated. Luke wasn't sure. He'd never made a habit of hanging out with Ms. Hendricks when she was high. He wasn't so sure if this reminded him of her.

"Hey," he smiled, then swallowed thickly, "hey, guess what?"

Luke bit the line. "What?"

"Guess." He was certainly smiling now.

"You're high?" Luke felt himself pulling away. His one and only true experience with intoxication, perhaps save for seeing that PE teacher laughing at a brick wall, had been his mother's forty-fifth birthday party – where a too-excitable friend had had way too much beer. His memory of her sniveling, red face was not a good one. May hadn't been impressed.

"No! Well, h-haha, I mean, yeah," he swallowed, "but no! I mean, guess. Guess!"

"Give me a clue."

The teen showed his teeth in a side grin. His fingers, thin and pale, trembled as they searched his pocket. "What's in my pocket?" He repeated that sound, the popping sound of the "p."

"Marijuana?"

The teen's face broke into a grin. "No! Guess, guess again. Again."

Luke frowned. "Is it a drug?"

He rolled his eyes. "Duh."

"Not weed?"

"No."

"Stronger?"

His incisors were crooked. "Oh, yeah. You," he swallowed. "Wan' some? How old you?"

"No thanks," Luke started to say.

_Don't be stupid. _His conscious told him. _You won't __take it – but someone else might._ Luke blinked. What was that supposed to mean?

_Sell it. You'll need the money for the return ticket._

Sell it? Oh. _Oh_.

Luke nodded slowly. "Sure."

The teen's his head bounced around randomly fervently and he quickly pressed a packet into Luke's palm. "Ten." He said.

The teen laughed. "You're shittin' me. Ya's too old to be ten. Ya, ya's talkin' like you forty."

Luke was sure that didn't make much sense.

Return ticket?

O

The ride continued like this. The man beside him losing himself one carefully swallowed pill at a time and Luke, always accepting whatever it was the teen handed him. Not the most pleasant situation he'd been in, but certainly not the worst. He'd take this over green-glowing ramblings any day. When the teen, Jake, was too gone to talk – he'd look out the window and dream of warm sand and cold water. He'd sell the pills. Find some kind illicit job. He'd be okay. He'd be away from her.

And then they reached Kansas.

Any sort of hope that'd been building in his psyche vanished in a flash.

Because he _was_ ten.

And this was Kansas.

They didn't call them the plains for nothing.

It felt real, suddenly. He was never going back to Connecticut. He ran away from home. He was never going to his mom again.

"Home sweet home." Said Jake as he adjusted a dark-colored jacket over his shoulders.

"Really?"

Jake nodded. "Told my folks I wanted to make something of myself in New York."  
"Did you?"

Jake laughed. "Oh, oh, no! But the _entertainment'_s better in N.Y. if you catch my cold."

Luke didn't.

Jake continued, "D'ya know what's interesting about rural Kansas?"

Luke shook his head.

"Nothing." He laughed and it was a brash sound. "Na' a fuckin' thing. Nope, nope, nope, na, na, na-"

"There's corn." Luke observed lamely.

"And now," a shallow swallow, "you've seen it all."

"I'm going to sleep." Said Luke.

_Don't_. His mind told him – but this time, he didn't listen – he was too tired.

_Stay awake, Luke._

_Luke!_

O

He could hardly believe the sheer number of people who got off at the Wichita station, though he had to admit, while he'd been asleep, they'd up and built a city over the cornfields he'd been expecting. Some of the buildings they passed looked down right space-age.

Luke wasn't sure if he was sorry that Jake was one of the ones who deboarded.  
"Gotta disappoint the folks." He mock saluted and his whole slender form trembled in the breeze.

"I'm sure you will."

Jake laughed. "Take it easy, Lukey."

Luke frowned. "You too, I guess."

_You slept._ Said his brain in an accusatory tone.

So? He asked himself. So what?

_So check your pockets._ It snipped in reply.

What exactly's your- He paused. They're gone.

_Duh._

Luke's head snapped up.

Who?

_The girl_.

The gir-. He saw her then, looking at him with piercing blue eyes and a frown that looked permanent. She was _his_ age, or maybe a year or two older.

"What're you lookin' at?" She snarled before he'd had time to fully gawk at how completely awful her makeup was.

"You took them." He accused.

"Took what? I didn't take anything."

"You're lying!"

She lurched suddenly, pushing him into the seat that had formerly been Jake's, locking him against the window.

"Don't be stupid." She was so close his eyes had trouble focusing and he could feel her breath washing across his face.

He answered meekly, "What?"

"You want them to notice us?"

"Who?"

She sighed deeply, "They only care if we make ourselves "a problem". No problem? And we might actually get where we're going without them calling child services."

_She's like you._

What?

_Talk to her._

Why?

_Just _talk _to her._

"And..." he pushed her off of himself, "where are you going?"

She squinted and her whole face contorted. "Why do you care?"

"Are you a runaway t- Ow!" He clutched his stomach. "What was that for?"

Her hand still balled in a fist, "Don't say stupid things, moron."

"Fine, whatever" he grumbled.

She slumped in her seat. "But," her voice was soft, "yeah. I guess."

"We can go together." He said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Power in number?" His voice spiked at the end. What was he talking about? What had he said two nights ago? Alone, alone, alone. When had that changed.

_It changed. _

She stared at him for a long time unblinking and unflinching. He noted, in this painstakingly long period of time, that her hair was unevenly cut – gave the illusion of having once had bangs maybe, and that she was the pale sick children got when they couldn't go out and play in the summertime. It didn't help her hair and eyebrows were jet black.

"Fine." The girl threw something into his lap. The pills. "There probably worthless anyway."

Luke stuffed them into his pocket for safe keeping.

_Well done. _His brain said. _But you're forgetting something._

What? He asked himself, because it was seeming that he had the best advice. He wondered when that had started too.

If it were possible for a subconscious to sigh, it did so now.

_I'm Luke and you are…?_

He stuck out his hand so jarringly the girl jumped and banged her knees against the seat in front of her.

"Luke Castellan." He said.

She squeezed his hand as hard as she could just to see him flinch.

"Thalia."

"Thalia who?

"It's just Thalia."

**Folks, my spellcheckers gave me so much shit for the word duffel bag. I genuinely have no idea how to spell it. Duffle? Duffel? Dufflebag? Duffelbag? With duffel bag - spellcheck doesn't yell at me, so there. Anyway, if you see any other spelling/grammar errors, lemme know. Hope you enjoyed and if you did, I promise you won't die ******(hopefully, stay well) **before I manage to post again (this time). This one, if all goes to plan, which of course it won't, it going to be long...  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

They made it**. **He'd never been to Fort Collins, but Thalia had. She knew how to sneak onto the bus to Denver too. In fact, among other things he'd wished he never knew, she was twelve, didn't look it, and in her time had traveled across the United States _twice._ He learned that she was from California, a city called Pasadena, only about an hour south of Ventura. And she knew _all about _the Central Coast.

"Why do you want to go to _Buenaventura_?" She asked one night, voice licked with disgust.

"What's wrong with Bu-… Ventura?"

"Nothing," she bit into a cold, stolen, hot dog – turns out Luke seemed to have a knack for stealing, "but what's _right_ with it?"

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It would if you'd ever been to Ventura."

"I've been to Ventura!"

She took an especially unladylike bite. "On vacation?"

"Well, yeah."

"With your _family_?" She was mocking him.

"So?"

"Not the same.  
He huffed. "Whatever."

They sat in silence – or what might have been silence if Thalia hadn't been half rabid dog. The _sounds _that girl made eating, Luke would admit, made him a little queasy. She was quiet as a mouse on her feet – freakishly quiet. It was weird then, how loud she was and how he realized he almost found her gross habits endearing. They sat beneath a quaking aspen along a freeway overpass and watched tail lights drive into a darkening horizon. He liked their sound. The rustling leaves sounded like bells.

"We're going to have to move again." said Thalia. "It's going to be too cold to stay here soon." As if to punctuate her comment, a frigid, dry breeze brushed through them. The trees' bells sung.

He mumbled his agreement. Though he'd found he was less uncomfortable than he'd been when he'd been by himself in Connecticut. They'd sold some of Jake's pills to some exuberant looking guy in front of a fancy art museum beside a US mint and had managed to "borrow" some sleeping bags from what had to be the largest sporting goods store Luke had ever seen. It was called _Dick's_. Thalia thought that was a lot funnier than it was. That had been forever ago, maybe, Luke didn't know. It had been spring and now it seemed to him that the first breath of winter was whistling past.

Thalia hadn't come unprepared. She'd managed to save a lot more than he had in cash and had taught him that cheap, gas station beef jerky kept you a lot more full than expensive, delicious packaged cookies. Actually, he'd learned a lot from Thalia in the months they'd been together – gas station store chalked full of stoned teenagers? Good. Jerky? Good. Water proof mascara? _Very_ good. Even with Thalia's expertise though, supplies were going to run dry – soon – and Luke had seen enough winters in Connecticut to know he didn't want to fight one here without warm blankets and a roof. Had enough on his one, singular night alone to know he didn't need to sleep in the dew again. Necessity is a swift teacher, he supposed. Or maybe he was just weak.

_Maybe you're just smart. _

To be honest, he wanted hot chocolate too, but it seemed a bit luxurious.

_So is mascara._ He retorted.

Good point. Luke decided his hot chocolate should have whipped cream on top.

"Where to?" He asked Thalia, whose gaze had softened on the horizon.

She rolled her eyes to him, "I thought you wanted to go to Ventura."

"Not if you don't." He mumbled in reply.

"What?"

"Nothing." But his cheeks felt hot. "I changed my mind."

_Perhaps you should go home._ He crooned.

"Whatever." Thalia declared, pulling up her sleeping bag to be beside him. She threw a lazy arm over his waist. "We'll decided in the morning."

"Good night, Thalia." He rolled away from her reach.

"Night, Luke."

_Home._

She found a way to lay her hand over his shoulders.

_Go home._

O

Well, they didn't go back to Connecticut, at least, not right away. First, they found themselves in Arizona, following the infallibly logical plan of, "go where it's _always_ hot." In fact, it was still pretty cold at night during the winter despite Thalia's insistence she was warm. She'd always pressed into his back through their sleeping bags. Slid her hand across his side onto his stomach.

_Hold her, you absolute_ _idiot._

It was in this time that Luke discovering cuddling wasn't as gross as he'd always thought, though it took another two years before he'd admitted to Thalia that he actually didn't mind it anymore.

"You're a dork." She said after he'd surreptitiously announced this to her. He shrugged.

"Dork is a stupid word."

"You're a stupid word."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"You don't make sense."

"Thalia, I swear you're five sometimes."  
"Whatever, dork."

That night, they shared a sleeping bag.

For warmth.

O

He was almost fourteen, had almost spent three years with Thalia bouncing back and forth between New Mexico and Arizona before he brought up the topic returning to the East Coast. A lot had changed in three years. He had changed, in three years. He was thinner, for one, and sharper, taller, and a much better pick-pocket than he'd ever admit to his mother. He could hardly believe he'd paid for his own bus ticket all those years ago.

"Why?" She asked, sipping languidly on a glass of sweet tea. She was draped over a blazing red booth in a run-down diner some thirty miles south of Phoenix. The whole town had this permanence of dust and antiquity to it and the diner was no exception. The jukebox, advertising songs for a nickel, was no exception. The ancient waitress, snow-white hair dutifully dulled up into a bun atop her head, was no exception. Thalia looked like a space-age addition to the décor with her ever-present mascara. It still wasn't a good look.

"I dunno," he wisped, "I miss…" Luke pursed his lips, "I miss the rain."

"Rain."  
"You know," he smirked and lace his fingers around his sweating water glass, "water? From the sky?" He waved a hand above his head.

"I know what rain is, dork."  
"Dork? Really?"

She glowered.

Perhaps not so much had changed after all.

"Connecticut?"

The waitress walk by, silently and smoothly, and filled her glass. Thalia shook three more packets of sugar into it. It didn't dissolve. Thalia took massive gulps.

"Fine," she said.

"Fine?"

She rolled her eyes and stood up from her booth. Lean too quickly over the table and pressed her lips painfully into Luke's. "Let's go to Connecticut."

Luke couldn't help the smile across his face.

Though his teeth still hurt from what had essentially been a headbutt.

"Dork," she said.

The sleeping bags that night, a little deflated and a little faded from the shocking vibrant green they'd once been, were still warm enough when they held each other.

O

_Wake up._

That was how they met their first monster. Not the kind that'd haunted little Luke's adolescent dreams, the one's that live in closets and steal socks from dressers. No. A monster. A real one. Tall. Ugly. Disgusting and horrific.

_Wake up. _His mind repeated. Luke peeled his eyes open and they tried to focus in the darkness.

What? He thought. Wha-?

_There_.

He saw him. In the starlight, a man looked very tall and muscular, but nothing beyond the scope of a steroid-addled moron. Luke didn't know why he'd woken at all. The man was quiet, save for his heavy footfalls. The night was quiet. Thalia was snoring, their haphazard water still was dripping, but what's new?

_Get up._ His subconscious screeched anyway. _For fuck's sake, stand up._

He fumbled to his feet. Rocks in dry red sand scratched his heels.

_Find something, a stick, anything. Go, go, go!_

A stick? In the desert? It was too dark for him to see anything effectively. He knelt by his and Thalia's supply pack. A couple _Slim Jims_, two full water bottles from the still, some rope.

_Grab the rope._

What?

_Trust me._

I _am_ you.

_So _listen_._

He did.

He crept as quietly as he could, standing only a little hunched over, up on his toes. His hands were shaking.

The man had collapsed onto the shoreline, where the river had advanced in the night. He was snoring as loudly as Thalia had been – but that wasn't his distinguishing feature. Luke turned his nose.

He _reeks_!

_Get over it. Crawl behind him._

Luke could see his face now, and smell his breath. Luke held his.

_Behind him._ His subconscious snapped. _Quickly._

Luke dropped his knees behind the man's resting head. The moon was a bleak source of lighting, but Luke could see the creases on the man's face – the scars and pock marks that covered his cheeks. He was an ugly man, but a man none the less. He leaned forward.

_Around his neck._

Luke jolted.

What?

_The rope,_ he ground, _around his neck_.

Are you crazy!?

_Kill him now, or he'll kill you later. Trust me._

He did.

The man hadn't woken immediately, like Luke had thought he would once he'd wound the cord around his neck. His hands slipped a little at first and Luke felt the man's clammy skin. His heartbeat.

Luke heard his own, throbbing in his ears.

When the man's eye finally did open, he swung out his hands wildly at Luke. His yellowed teeth gleamed sharp and pointed in the moonlight – Luke, scared, had only pulled harder. His cheeks felt hot, his sockets were squeezing his eyeballs to point of pain.

"ARGH!" The monster's hand connected with his side.

It was then Luke realized he couldn't see the river anymore, not out of the sides of his bleeding eyes. Just the man. Just his single eye. Just his sharp teeth. A cyclops. A fucking cyclops. He pulled harder.

_Tighter. _

The rope bit into his hand.

_Tighter._

_TIGHTER!_

Snap.

The golden dust blended into the sand.

Luke wobbled on his feet for a moment, staring at where the monster had been.

_Your rib._

My-? Oh, shiiit.

Luke let out a hollow gasp. He slipped down to a knee.

"Ow, shit. _Fuck_."

_Language. _

"Luke?" He heard Thalia call out. "Luke, where are you?"

"I- fuck," he hissed, "I'm here, Thalia. On the shore."

"Luke!" He heard her voice again, of in the voice, heavy thuds of her feet planting down into the sand.

He blinked.

_Get ready_.

He focused in the haze.

It wasn't Thalia.

How could it have been? Not with those heavy feet. The cyclops' wife was just as ugly and just as tall. Luke lurched for his rope abandoned on the shore. The women crept toward him, slowly, pointedly walking. She knew he couldn't get away. She knew. She wanted him to suffer. His chest seized.

"Ow! Shi-" his rib screamed in agony against his skin. He fell. Luke's hands scrambled in sand for the rope but his knees couldn't find purchase. The lady cyclops grinned in a horrific glee and she spoke with Thalia's voice.

"Oh, Luke," she crooned, and her feet pounded closer and closer and closer, "what did you do?"

"Thalia!"

Closer.

"Did you kill him?"

Closer.

"THALIA!"

Too close.

"Did you think you would get aw-"

Her single eye widened and her mouth flopped open. She gasped horribly. A trembling hand reached for her gut. The wet gleamed in the moonlight on her fingertips.

"I-" she wheezed and her voice was like gravel. "I..."

She fell forward, almost onto Luke, but shattered into golden dust.

He coughed. Scrapped at his eyes. Coughed.

"Luke." Thalia breathed and fell to her knees. "Gods, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm-" he panted, "I think I broke a rib."

Thalia nodded solemnly. "Looks like. Dork."

He tried to force his smile into his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked.  
"What?"  
"What happened?"

"You saw what happened."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," she said, "believe your eyes. Come on," it was not fun when she wrenched his arm over her shoulder and hoisted him to his feet. "I'll clean you up." She lifted a dagger he'd never seen from the sand.

_When you see,_ began his subconscious, _you know. That's why they're the same word._

_"_The hell are you on about?" he grumbled to himself.

"What?" asked Thalia, wiping the gleaming blade on the fabric of her jeans.

"Oh," he sighed, "it's nothing."  
_You'll see._ He replied gleefully.

_And then you'll know._

O

He'd hot-wired a couple cars before, but never one that made Thalia look _this_ good.

Call it a delirious, ridiculous, American thing – something about a total babe shotgun in a leather-seat pickup with the window down was _hot_.

Or maybe it was just Thalia.

Luke was starting to think it was Thalia.

She told him later, when night had fallen and the darkness had swallowed her face from Luke's peripherals, that the cyclops couple from hell "hadn't been her first rodeo."

"Seriously?"

"C'mon! It's a _Ford_ F-150! You knew I had to."

He rolled his eyes. She couldn't see it.

"But," her voice was ginger, "I think you missed the key part."

"Which was?"

"I've fought monsters before."

He swallowed and his mind drifted to green mist and slamming door.

Luke, he chided himself, she's not a monster.

_But she is._

Thalia sighed deeply. Occasionally, a car would pass on the them. The headlights made Thalia's eyes glow.

"Oh." He said. "I guess that explains the knife."

Kinda.

"Yeah."

They paused.

He didn't press.

"When I was a kid," an exhale through her nose, "a couple of times when I was with my brother-"

"Brother?"

"Jason."

Luke swallowed. "Oh."

"He's dead."

Luke held his breath.

"Oh… I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Did… a monster kill him?"

Thalia was eerily quiet. "Yeah. A kind."

He tried to meet her eyes in the dark. He knew what she meant.

His mom had been a kind too.

O

They barely made it**. **In fact, it'd been nearly another year or two before the warm bluegrass of Kentucky blurred into the historic mishmash of Pennsylvania. Between the first attack and substituent ones that had followed, they hadn't had the down time their bliss in Denver had afforded them. If only they'd known that was bliss and soaked it up. Hindsight really is twenty twenty.

Luke thought he might have been fifteen, or sixteen, didn't really have any clue how old Thalia was, but he _knew_ that they would reach Connecticut soon. Maybe it was the ever growing smell of salt, or the undoubtedly worsening roads. He wasn't sure. But he knew Connecticut was on the horizon.

He hadn't expected to feel so… elated. So glad. So unbelievably happy to be going _home_. It was still home in his mind. He'd expressed this to Thalia, his excitement upon seeing the faded sign welcoming them on the side of the road. They had a car now, actually, when unfortunately the pickup's engine had stalled. It hadn't been Luke's fault... though it really had. Thalia had taken the wheel. Thalia learning to drive had been a scary Thalia.

Thalia had just snorted and chewed her gum, which had been a gift from Luke – he'd stolen it, obnoxiously loud

"Remind me again why you left in the first place?"

Luke glowered. "You know why."

She rolled her eyes but didn't lose her focus on the road.

"Dork."

He tried not think about their dire conversation back on Route 66. About her brother. About the things he'd thought about his mom.

It was stunning to him, really quite stunning, when they passed a wooden welcome sign reading, "Westport."

The site of downtown took his breath away. It was so that same. It was so _unchanged_. He recognized some of the old stores, though a couple of the restaurants were new.

"Kinda surreal?"

"Yeah."

She huffed and he spied the tiniest smile etched on her face.

"Where to?"

"Left," he answered immediately.

The _tick, tock _of the turn signal sped his heart.

The bustle of the city center faded into a softer, grassier, quieter road – fenced on the side by short wooden fences and paved with long winding driveways.

"Nice houses." Commented Thalia.

"I guess."

"Dork."

He mumbled a few more gentle directions. They meandered through parkways. Gravel crunched under their wheels.

They parked.

"So..." Thalia began. He leg was bouncing nervously. "We're here?"

Luke stared up at his childhood home. The paint was a little faded and the garden a little overgrown, but his mom's bird feeder was full and he heard the swallows.

"Yeah."

He could feel his subconscious smile.

_Welcome home._

There had been city wide shock. And press coverage. And people he hardly remembered kissing his cheeks. And pompous high school admissions offers with promises to "catch him up." But, by _far_, the worst part of it was his mom. She didn't scream at him, she wasn't mad at him. Didn't kick him out or make demands about "where the fuck he'd been?", or "why the fuck had he left?"

She cried.

And cried.

And cried.

And kissed his cheeks and wound her arms around him and squeezed so tight he thought he'd lose his breath.

"Luke! Luke, Luke, Luke," her voice trailed to a whisper.

His gazed flicked up to the statuettes on the windowsill. He found the little Hermes doll his mom kissed with his gaze.

Thank you.

O

He hid Thalia. In his attic.

Yeah, even he knew it was stupid.

But the only access was in his bedroom, it was fully finished, and really other than Thalia, only housed some completely ancient holiday lights and blueprints. Besides, far be it from a mother to question why her teenage son was spending more time in his bedroom. It made a good excuse to hide from her when she was crazy and steaming green.

But he felt especially stupid when she said, "we have to talk."

His heart dropped.

"Are you leaving?"

She laughed at his face.

"Are you stupid? Dork, I would never leave you."

He didn't know words could feel good.

"I have to tell you something."

"What?" He said, a little breathless.

"We're demigods."

"I… uh. What?"

"De-mi-gods. Half-bloods, whatever."  
"I don't- uh." he was beginning to think she'd been on the road for too long.

"I'm the daughter of Zeus-"

"_Zeus_?"

"-and I'm pretty sure you're the son of Hermes."

"Uh- wha?"

She glowered. "Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Seriously, how many cyclops have we killed?"

"Well-"

"Manticores? Emposai?"

"Yeah, but-"  
"And this is the part that's unbelievable?"

"I mean..."

And it had been, until his mom told him the same thing randomly over dinner like it was nothing at all.

"Your father was Hermes."

He stared.

The fluorescent light buzzed overhead.

She continued, albeit while serving him way too much salad. Telling him everything. How she was a "clear-sighted mortal," how they'd met, how he'd wooed her, how-

"That's enough, mom."

She chuckled.

"I want you to go to Camp Half-blood."

"To… what?"

"A summer camp," she said, "for demigods like you."

Demigods.

"They have a summer camp for demigods? Like… seriously? Are you joking?"

His mom gave him a half sort of smile. "Soon, monsters will come and find you-"

She had _no_ idea.

"-and you'll need to be prepared. Camp Half-blood can train you and keep you safe until then."

He stared down at his meatloaf.

"I just got home."

His mother waved a hand violently, because her mouth was full.

"No, no, baby – over the _summer_. Finish the year here – by the _gods_, you need the education."

"_Hey._"

She laughed and he did too, sipping down some iced water.

"Chiron will take great care of you. I think you two might even get along."

"Who's Chiron?"

"The trainer of heroes," she announced like it had a TM on it. She grinned. "He's a centaur."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

If subconsciousness could smile, it was now. _When you see it, you'll believe it. _

O

Luke wasn't a virgin and neither was Thalia, not anymore and not for a long time, but having an actual bed made things well… kinda easier. Better. Smoother. Definitely way more comfortable when they didn't have to pick pebbles out of unspeakable places.

"I think..." Thalia whispered in his ear, curled against his side, "that was like..."

"Nice? Nicer than usual?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

She exhaled and her breath tickled his ear. Shifted her head to press against his collarbone. He breathed deep enough to extend his stomach. They were kinda sweaty and in the confines of his bedroom, it was easier to smell… well.

Luke couldn't tell if he liked it or not.

But he liked Thalia.

He was starting to think that's what mattered.

"I..."

Her cheek brushed against his throat when she turned to see him.

"I..."

"Me too." she said quickly. "I love you too. Don't be a dork about it."

He couldn't help his smile.

O

_You need to go to camp now. _

The thought had come to him during a shockingly boring lecture on the American Revolution. How did they make war boring? Warfare was _cool_, right? Luke couldn't fathom it. For the time of year, the weather was stunningly bad – rain, clouds, thunder and lightening.

What? He thought to himself like his brain wasn't his own. He noticed the teacher eying him. Apparently it was obvious he wasn't listening.

_Leave. Now. Get up and go._

I can't just-

_Go. _

He stood.

The teacher, an elderly man with what little hair he had left brushed neatly over his scalp, faltered.

"Um, Castellan? Are you alright?"

Luke felt his face flush.

What now?

Hey!

The man arched an eyebrow. "Do you need to go to the nurse?"

"Uh. Yeah." He lifted his arm and coughed into his sleeve. "I don't feel good."

Thirty pairs of eyes rolled at his back, he knew. He was a teenager too.

"I'll..." the teacher's brow furrowed, "write you a note..."

He tore up the note as soon as he left the room and sprinted down the corridor, down the stairs, round the corner, and out the front door. Despite the rain, it was still too bright. He turned on his heel, threw down his backpack and sprinted homeward.

Rain pounded into him.

_You'll need to get to Long Island-_

Thalia.

_What?_

I need to get Thalia.

_It's too late._

What-

_She's dead, Castellan._

Like his blood had turned to slush in his veins. Like ice had poured into his heart.

What?

What?

What are you talking about? How could I-

_You couldn't. _His subconscious snapped. _But I could. I am not you, Luke. _It snarled. _I never have been. The girl is dead. Find a way to get to Long Islan-_

Then who are you?

'_A named thing is a tamed thing.' Names have power, Luke._

He was nearing his house now, rounding the pebble lane corners, across the grass. The rain had cleared.

You know mine, he retorted.

_Stay away from the house, Luke. _It warned. _Go straight to the island._

Fuck you.

_You'll regret it._

He smelled it before he saw it. Fire. His house was burning.

His mom was in there. And Thalia was in his attic.

"Mom!" He screeched. "Thalia!"

_STOP._

"THALIA!"

They'd made fires together before, on some Arizona camp sites and in unsuspecting neighbors' yards. The inferno tore through the good memories surfacing in his mind.

Windows shattered.

He sprinted.

Wooden beamed groaned.

He ran as fast as he could.

The door collapsed.

"No!" He screamed.

The house fell.

The onslaught of ash and embers and wooden shards blew Luke to the ground. He screeched at the heat flying into his eyes, the cuts that instantaneously lined his body. His skin _burned_.

He couldn't move from his position on the ground, couldn't rise to his the burning remainder of his home.

Couldn't crawl the mangled body he saw. The one with spiky black hair.

His ear prickled at the distant sound of sirens.

_I'm sorry for you. _Said the voice.

It was all he heard before he faded into the darkness.

O

He didn't want to wake up.

Not really.

There was no delay in his mind, no moment of relief before the oncoming storm of memories flooded his mind. Before his eyes had opened, Luke knew Thalia was dead. Before he remembered his own name in the early morning, he mourned her. Mourned his mother.

But he did wake up.

And the first thing he saw was a centaur.

He blinked.

_That's one way to get to camp, I suppose._ Mused the voice.

The man... horse... um, centaur looked pensive. Lips pressed together and eyes draw tight – his tail flicked subconsciously back and force, brushing the marble beneath him. He was with a girl, short blonde, and athletic-looking. Her arms were folded across her chest and whatever she was looking at, she was not impressed.

Luke realized it was him.

"_This_ is the child of Zeus?" she asked, spite evident.

The centaur sighed. "He's where the satyr said he would be."

"I thought he was supposed to have black hair."

The centaur frowned. "I'm not entirely sure this _is _a child of Zeus-"

"_Obviously_," she hissed.

"-but at the very least," he continued, "he is a demigod."

The girl sighed, but didn't argue.

"He's awake, you know."

"Yes," answered the centaur. "I see that."

"He's not saying anything."

In reality, Luke's voice felt hoarse and he didn't think he could have if he'd wanted to. But really, what would he say? Hey, nice tail, do you think you could kill me?

He didn't say any of that.

"Do you think he'd stupid?"

"Annabeth." The centaur chided.

The clop, clop, clop of his hooves alone would have told Luke he was approaching, but the centaur placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Child," he said tenderly, "we pulled you from a fire. Do you remember it?"

He nodded.  
"Do you remember who the..." he pursed his lips, "who the girl was?"

Again, Luke nodded.

The centaur sighed. "Then I'm very sorry for yo-"  
"My mom," he said suddenly. He was right – his voice was a rasp. "Is she okay?"

The centaur had big, brown eyes and a sort of soft set look to his gaze that spoke of something a lot more tragic than a fire. "I'm sorry."

Luke licked his lips and his eyes were hot.

"Can you leave me alone?"

The girl protested, "We need to take you to your cab-"

"For now." The centaur conceded. "And then we will officially welcome you to camp."

"Camp Half-blood?"

The centaur blinked, "Yes."

"Are you Chiron?"

He nodded slowly. Bemused.

"Great."

There was an awkward pause. Chiron filled it.

"We'll... leave you alone now."

When he was finally alone, after they'd closed the door that'd revealed a bright and cheery day, the voice spoke to him again.

_It was Zeus._

I want to be alone.

_Zeus killed Thalia. And your mother._

Zeus was her father.

_And her father killed her._

Luke furrowed his brow. Go away.

_Not until you listen._

Go away.

_Listen._

He was tired. And frustrated. Can't you jus-

_I'll be brief. You wanted my name?_

Well, yeah…

_And you will have it, if you listen._

Luke mulled for a moment.

Fine_._

_Zeus killed Thalia in a ridiculous way of avoiding the prophecy._

The pro-

_Yes,_ the voice said impatiently, _the one that predicts the fall of Olympus by the hands of a child of the big three. _

Luke frowned. My head hurts.

_You don't have to listen much longer. He killed his daughter in hopes of avoiding the prophecy. It will not succeed._

Why not?

_Because already Poseidon and Hades have children growing nearby – he was not the only one to break his oath._

I don't under-

_And you don't need to. Yet. All you need to understand is that the Olympians are flawed. They let you and Thalia suffer by yourselves as children and they let her die to save themselves._

Luke swallowed. So you hate them.

_No._

No?

_No. Simply, I've deemed them incapable of not only helping themselves, but in performing the task given to them. They cannot protect this world – not in life and not in death._

Luke tried to roll to his side.

And what? You can?

_Yes. Answered_ the voice without hesitation. _I've done so before and I will do so again._

You want to bring down the gods?  
_Nothing so petty. I want to save the world. Let their frivolous squabbles rule their minds while we, in the shadows, prevent this from happening again._

This?

_This. Thalia. The unclaimed. The suffering._

I don't understand.

_When you see, you will know._

That again?

_You understand me?_

I suppose.

_Then will you help me?_

Why me?

_Why not you? It's got to be someone. _

He licked his lips.

I don't even know you're name. Why should I trust you? Who says you're any better than the gods?

_Good questions. So then, Luke Castellan, I suppose I'll leave the question open to you. My name is Kronos. And when you change your mind, know this where we begin._

**_Hello, hello. Hope you enjoyed and let me know if you didn't. Critique is painfu- good. As always, if you find any typos (which, erm, you will), please let me know so that I can fix them. Please leave a review... I love them. _**


	3. Chapter 3

part two:

**CHAPTER THREE**

He'd damn near skewered a girl in archery. Which, in hindsight, might not have been the worst case scenario – because now the bitch had a ticket out on his head.

Gray eyes glowered from across the field.

"She's..." Chiron began, slowly, "a handful sometimes."

Right.

"She" was called Annabeth. He'd seen her briefly in the infirmary upon his arrival and she'd been his personal camp tour guide for a short time after, while he was being introduced to his cabin mates. Cabin Eleven. Hermes' cabin. Some of them were truly Hermes' children, but the majority of them were just… waiting. They were called the unclaimed, a term that ran a precursory chill down his spine. Kronos had said that, hadn't he? Luke wasn't sure what he was seeing when he looked at them, scattered across the floor. He wondered how they hadn't matched up to their siblings.

He felt eyes on his back.

Gray, he knew.

So back to the bitch, as she was now sitting a table away from him, angrily chewing her salad and glaring in his general direction. How the fuck do you chew mad? Really? They called her a daughter of Athena, but he wasn't sure he really saw it. The "wisdom and intelligence" thing must have missed a generation. That was his saturated – second opinion. At first, he'd thought they'd almost hit it off, if by hitting it off meant he was anxious and weird and she obviously thought he was hot but was trying to hide it. That had been a full month ago.

Any sort of menial curiosity had fizzled into general animosity in that time.

"Take a picture." He called out to her, loud enough for her whole cabin to hear. Her cheeks flushed when they snickered. Maybe he'd spent too much time with Thalia.

Thalia.

Thalia, Thalia… he unconsciously drummed his fingers against the wooden table top. It'd been a month. He was sure of this, actually, and that certainty was a novelty of its own. When they'd been on their own, time hadn't seemed to be all so important. Not the time, not their age, not even the month. Only the season, the fluctuation in the weather – only the occasional holiday. Now she was gone, and it had been thirty days and Luke knew every hour.

Luke had told this Kronos. Now that he knew, vaguely, who the voice really was, that'd he'd actually been talking to someone else all those years, he divulged only things he felt he couldn't to the other campers, or to Chiron. Ironically, Luke didn't feel comfortable sharing anything with the campers or Chiron. It meant he was keeping a lot to himself. And talking a lot with Kronos.

Two things that he knew didn't bode well.

"Time is never of the essence," he had said simply, "until it is."

The half blood wondered if Kronos knew he'd signed up to be a therapist when they'd begun to speak. He doubted it. He also doubted he and Kronos had signed a confidentiality waiver. As if a disembodied Titan had anyone to gossip with. Did he? Did Luke even care any more?

"Is that supposed to make sense?"

The titan was silent.

"Kronos?"

Luke felt numb.

The cabin leaders, two weird, basically identical, boys with pixie-like features, had found both a space for him on the floor and a spare sleeping bag. It was an electric green. Luke slept on the plain wood.

"The sleeping bag would be more comfortable." Was Kronos' unsolicited advice.

"The sleeping bag is green."

"And..." the titan paused, "that's...?"

"Our sleeping bag was green." It sounded stupid even as it came out of his mouth. Here he was, sixteen, maybe seventeen, breaking down over a color. What would Thalia have said to him now? He didn't want to think how pathetic that must have sounded to an ancient, all-powerful being. His chest felt tight and his eyes felt hot and constricted, but wasn't going to cry. Of course not. He was six-fucking-teen years old.

"Have your tears." Said Kronos quietly.

Luke was clenching the sleeping bag with his teeth to keep his sobs quiet. He had already been crying.

Luke wanted him to keep talking.

He was silent.

O

Day sixty two – two months and he was truly beginning to hate archery. The bowstring was a twisted metal that was incessantly digging into the pads of his fingers. The wooden grip was really dry against the skin of his palms. And he couldn't hit the target to save his fucking life.

He spied her from the corner of his eye. A smug smile. Gray eyes. Annabeth. The bitch. She glowered at him from across the archery range, over where her cabin was practicing on that ridiculous lava wall. In what world would anyone every need to climb up a lava wall? How did that even make sense, when no one had left camp for anything that mattered the entire two months Luke had been here?

He pushed past the counselor of the Apollo cabin and shoved his bow into the boy's hands.

"Uh-"

"Hey, Luke? Wait-"

Annabeth pushed into him.

"What's your problem?" He gritted, seething.

The blonde fearlessly met his gaze. "You're the problem."

"What is this? Third grade? Grow up. Get over it."

She pushed them back from the growing interest of her siblings. Her cabin leader, a guy Luke thought might have been called Malcolm, stepped anxiously forward.

"Annabeth-"

"Fine. You know what, Luke? I'll tell you in small enough words so maybe you can understand. It's you. You think you're the only one with baggage? Camp doesn't need assholes like you parading around, thinking they can get away with everything! I'm tired of watching your moping shit-show."

Michael? Mitchell? - whatever - looked offended. "Annabeth, he's just suffered a huge loss-"

"We've all lost something, Malcolm." She sneered. Water glimmered in her eyes and her face contorted around her mouth and nose. "Or someone."

Luke was too angry to care. "Who the fuck do you-"

He never finished his thought. A horn sounded in the distance.

All heads swiveled to the top of the hill that over looked Camp Half-Blood. From Luke's vantage point, only the tip of an old pine tree was visible. The rest of the view was just the descending valley – a dried, dizzying display of piss-yellow grass.

Something poked over the top of the hill.

Luke squinted against the sun.

And then he didn't have to.

He knew it from elementary story books. From the cabinet above his mom's kitchen sink.

A minotaur.

Huge.

Slamming against the camp borders.

He startled, but just for a moment. There's no way the beast could overcome the camps borders. Right? Right? There wasn't even enough time for Malcolm's panic to raise the alarm before a shower of golden dust vanquished the monster from their sights.

A lone figure, thin, harrowed, inky black against the bright sun loomed beneath the tree. The form wavered. And the figure fell to the ground.

"What the-"

Be ready, half blood. Kronos warned from nowhere. Luke shuddered at the chill of his voice.

Poseidon's pawn has entered the game.

O

Perseus Jackson, the Minotaur slayer, their mysterious arrival, was fourteen. So young. Scrappy in his legs and slightly pudgy about his waist. Puberty hadn't hit the right places yet. He had suffered massive contusions on his hands and chest and a scrap across his cheek, a bump on his head – but managed to retain all his limbs. The infirmary didn't even think the boy would scar. That was the good news. He was unconscious, as Luke had been, and Annabeth lingered at the kid's bedside like a waking nightmare – gray eyes trained on the trail of drool rolling down his cheek. He hadn't woken in the two days since he'd arrived. Luke was starting to think you had to have a concussion to pass the border. Luke stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as far from Annabeth as was feasibly possible. He thought Percy looked the part of a Greek hero. Curly black hair, olive skin.

He stepped forward.

Nudged the boy's shoulder. Percy shifted mildly on his cot.

So he lives. Was Kronos' only comment.

I guess.

But you have bigger problems now.

Annabeth glowered from her place at his bedside.

"Luke."  
"We never finished our conversation." He said.

"Whatever."

A pause.  
"He drools."

She gave him an incredulous stare. "So?"  
He shrugged. "Just saying." Saliva dripped onto his chin. "Do you know him?"  
"No."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was fiddling with the hem of her shirt, one of the orange Camp Half-Blood things. Her eyes were glazed on the wall.

"Did you know," she said mildly, "that Thalia was a camper here?"

It would explain a lot. Her dagger. Her expertise with it. The fact she didn't punch him when he said he saw a fucking cyclops. Or even look vaguely surprised. She'd been trained by Chiron. The notion of it ran down his spine like cold water. His lips tingled and his skin felt like needles.  
"She came when she was a little kid. I only knew her for about a year before she left." She paused. "I didn't know she was a daughter of Zeus. I mean, no one did."

"He didn't claim her in a year?"  
Annabeth looked at him strangely. "How could he? He swore an oath."

"What oath?"  
"You really don't know anything do you?"  
"No need to be a bitch about it."  
"We were friends." She snipped, though her voice had lost its gravity. "Best friends, I thought. I lost her too."

Luke didn't really know what to say. He'd grieved before. Lost before. Had he ever seen grief? Annabeth was shaking. He almost said he was sorry. But if Annabeth was looking for sympathy, Luke was too busy spending it on himself.

Kronos was counting on that.

"Why did she leave?" He said finally.

"Because she was tired of being unclaimed."

"Because of Zeus, you mean."

"He and his brothers all swore to have no more children."

Look where that got them.

Luke knew Perseus was a son of Poseidon, even if no one else did. Why would it not be true? Kronos had been right about Thalia and he had been right about his house. Kronos had lived a life with Luke, being nothing but consistently right. Luke also knew, if Kronos was in fact reliable, that Hades too had a child out there somewhere. He didn't share that with her.

"What would happen if he had another child?"

"Who?"  
"Zeus."

Names have power, Castellan.

Her lips turned downwards. "The great prophecy requires a child of the big three."  
"Great prophecy."

She stood abruptly. "It doesn't pertain to you."

"No?"  
She scowled. "Not unless your dad is the Unseen."

Luke knew he wasn't.

I can tell you.

Will you?

You might not like what you hear.

O

Chiron of all people invited him to have tea.

Tea.

Like he was ninety fucking years old.

And true to his word, the centaur had prepared tea on a ping-pong ball table in what was called the Big House – an Antebellum era looking nightmare of a building that looked to have been transplanted from a thriving plantation in the 1700s. The interior gave way to a more plastic, 90s America: the chair he was invited to sit in was a folding chair splattered with American flag decals that probably came from a second-hand sporting good's store. The walls were decorated with dollar-store paintings in frames from a craft store. Luke wondered why the gods couldn't afford nicer chairs. Or tables. Don't even get him started on the bathrooms.

Chiron motioned wordlessly to the spread. Tea. Some sweets. Doritos because why the fuck not? Luke spotted some fig cookies and took one.

"What did you need?" he asked once he'd swallowed.

Chiron poured him a cup of sweet tea into a red Solo cup. And breathed deeply and leaned forward.

Oh, good. Kronos commented lightly. It's an intervention.

Luke tried to hiss his mental reply, "what are yo-"

"Luke." The centaur began and his voice was like warm water. Luke felt his shoulders relax a little. The demigod met his eyes. "I wanted to talk to you because some of your peers have noticed that it's been more difficult for you to acclimate than it often times is for a lot of our campers."

Luke asked Kronos, "the hell did he just say?"

He says you're not fitting in. And language.

"Oh."

"Oh." Luke said audibly to Chiron.

The centaur nodded solemnly.

"Is there anything I can do to make this transition time more comfortable for you?"  
Can you raise Thalia from the dead? He thought. Or my mom?

"Not really."

The centaur hesitated.

"Would you like some water?"  
"Sure."

Another red cup.

Luke stared at it for a while, watching his own reflection stare back at him. He had a scar, now, huge, running from his eyes to his cheek. A serpent had come towards his and Thalia's camp sometime in Kansas. She'd, thankfully, been uninjured – but a talon had caught on his face. It was still a little red, but the water's reflection made it seem like it'd completely faded into white. What it might look like in time. As if Thalia was a relic from his childhood, immortalized only by a mar on his cheek. He could practically hear Kronos' sage words of advice now. "Time heals all."

A dull chuckle from within his mind.

Perhaps, he chimed in. But not yet.

Luke didn't think he ever wanted Thalia's loss to feel like a dull ache. Like a faded. What would that say about him?

"Luke," Chiron called. The centaur was sitting in front of a window overlooking a sort of backyard. Luke didn't know of any camp related thing that lay beyond the barrier of the window, but saw a small shed with curling ivy and what he could only assume was a small mess of a garden. Green. Idyllic. A tree was dying in the shadows of the shed.

"Luke," he repeated and his fingers were drumming smoothly across the table. "Tell me about the arena."

"What about it?"

"I heard your swordsmanship is excellent. Tell me about it."

"Beginner's luck."

Chiron loosely smiled. "That's not quite what I heard."

"No?"  
"I heard you disarmed Clarisse in one-on-one combat."  
"Sorry."

"What for? It's excellent. We approve of anything our campers choose to excel in. Further, I do believe having something to aspire to will help stabilize you emotionally and physically. Something you need." A sly smile, "I heard, as well, that archery wasn't exactly working out for you."

"Not Apollo then." And Luke said it more than he asked because he already knew the answer. But that had been Chiron's initial conjecture. After of course the whole Zeus mess. Before they realized they lost her. It was why he'd been placed into archery in the first place. Because his blond hair, and his blue eyes. Supposedly like Apollo's. It wasn't exactly a science, was it?

Seriously, Luke? Kronos quipped. You're a thief, not a bard.

What is this? Skyrim?

Kronos gave a dignified pause. What's Skyrim?  
Chiron quirked an eyebrow.

Luke made a face.

Luke, Kronos was annoyed, what's Skyrim? Is it important?

Chiron asked. "Can you sing?"

He tried.

"It... doesn't seem very likely."

"Kronos, what do you think."  
I was too busy having to figure out what Skyrim wason my own to listen to you.

"Thanks."

Tell him.

"What?"

That you're a son of Hermes.

"Why?"

I want to prove a point.

"What point?"

You truly think Hermes will drop down from his place on high to claim you because you name him? Is your self-importance so inflated? Only you weep for you, Castellan.

"He's my dad."

He let your mother go mad. He let her die. He'll do the same to you.

Luke swallowed thickly. Chiron was studying his face. "My mom told me my dad was Hermes."

Chiron blinked. "Oh?" The, "and you didn't tell me this earlier" was clear in the subtext of his arched eyebrow.

"I forgot."

"I see."

His knee was bouncing. It would have been some smug satisfaction if Kronos had been right – but something in him wanted the titan to, for once, be wrong. He waited for something to happen.

And Kronos was silent.

"So I'm claimed?"

"Not exactly. Your father needs to claim you – it's usually done in an obvious way."

"Like?"  
"Like by placing his symbol above your head."

"Or coming down from his place on high?"

Chiron's brow furrowed. "I suppose that would also do… though, unusual."

Luke looked up. Nothing. No symbol. No god. He looked to Chiron, who shrugged.

Kronos' point proved.

He didn't feel especially smug.

"Sometimes it takes time."

There it was again. Luke waiting on time to solve all his problems.

Don't hold your breath.

It went on like this. Annabeth sneering an Chiron being the ever concerned, dotting docent, though, he supposed, some things had progressed in his tenure at Camp Half-Blood. He found didn't mind Percy, the heroic slayer of the Minotaur, because he was a massive idiot. And a lovable one. Though Kronos' advice to "befriend him" had Luke giving Percy a wide berth purely to spite Kronos.

Other things were new too. He was getting better with the sword. More fluid. More languid. Swift. The Hephaestus cabin had gifted him with his very own and the balanced weight forced his hips to still just so. Clarisse's training had taught his feet to never cross. It was a dance he'd been perfecting, rapidly, and it'd hadn't gone unnoticed. He spied Dionysus looming in the bleachers carved into the sandstone, watching with bleary purple eyes. Clarisse had knocked him off his feet in his distraction. He'd become the de-facto ring leader for the goods "acquired" by the Hermes cabin for the rest of camp – because whatever his mother had taught him – he was a damn good pickpocet. Travis and Connor, his twin brothers – were trying to rope him into a prank they were going to be playing on the Demeter cabin.

You should do it.

Why? Luke asked. It'll get me into trouble.

Better to be in trouble than nothing at all.

Are you reading tumblr posts while I'm sleeping?

What?

Never mind.

Another thing I have to find out on my own?

Stop complaining.

He could feel Kronos sigh.

"What'dya say, Luke?" Asked Travis. Or Connor. They weren't technically twins, he knew, but fuck – he'd could not tell them apart.

He licked his lips.

"Fine."

It was not fine.

It was stupid, it was raining, and he was cold.

"Tell me again why we're on the roof?" He hissed.

Travis leaned over. Water was running down the bridge of his nose and his finger tips were tinted blue. "Because this is gonna be awesome."

"Why do they have dirt on their roof?"  
"Because they're the Demeter cabin."

"So they live and breath agriculture?"

They had the audacity to look bemused. "We all do what our parents do. Get with the program, Luke."

The cabin hadn't not thought chocolate Easter bunnies on their dirt roof was as funny as the Hermes cabin did.

But of all those who paid him any mind, it was Kronos who seemed most keen.

It worried him.

And pissed him off.

He was climbing ranks more quickly then a son of Ares in the marines and still his father wouldn't claim him.

He looked to other amusements, biding his time, waiting for Hermes. The Athena cabin had a grand library and beside the cabin, was an even bigger library – both littered with Attic and Doric Greek texts idolizing the gods and demonizing the titans.

He did his homework – or at least tried in his ever shrinking free time. It got him some weird looks from Annabeth's siblings, but what else was he to do? Blindly trust?

He'd done it before.

With Thalia.

But she was dead and he didn't think he'd do it again.

Instead, he learned about the titans.

Kronos had been a king. A good king, the stories told, a terrible husband, and a worse father. Luke wasn't a stranger to less than stellar fathers, really, but he worried his thumb over the worn page. A wife who betrayed him. Family that betrayed him. His own betrayal towards his children. Is this the kind of person you trust? One whose own family would turn their backs to them? Again and again.

Kronos remained impassive while Luke dug deeper into his history. Didn't try to stop him. Didn't try to toss his two cents into the fray as Luke's opinion of him plummeted.

Luke asked why.

Why what?

"You must know what I'm doing."

Of course. And?

"And you don't care I'm looking into you?"

Not at all.

"Why not?"

Would it help if I stopped you? I would do the same. Frankly, it's the first sensible thing you've done since your girlfriend died.

"Gee, thanks."

You asked.

Luke thumbed the spine of a particularly thick leather volume that had detailed the labors of Heracles. He sat in one of the libraries now, alone save for a studious son of Athena who was slaving by harsh fluorescent lights over a paper. For what reason would anyone at Camp Half-blood need to write a paper? Half the people here were dyslexic, it's not like they had an English class to get to. It was past sundown. Past dinner time and most of the campers were singing songs. Neither of them would be missed.

Luke didn't worry about the other camper paying him any mind. "These stories hate you. You are the villain in all of them."

Let this, if nothing else, be a lesson to you, Castellan. Everyone's a hero in their own story.

"And what? The victor's write the storybooks? You're really the good guy?"

I think you've rather missed the point.

"Which is?"

There is no good guy. No true right and wrong. No true, pure victory and no utter defeat. Only the best move you can make next. Only the path you chose to walk.

"That sounds vaguely inspirational."

It's not. Nor should you think of it such. Everyone uses one another as a means to an end.

"So you're using me?"

Of course. As you use me.

"And this is supposed to make me want to help you?"

Maybe. Or not. Know this – when you know what someone wants, you own them. You can predict their moves. Predict their motives. It gives you unparalleled insight. And everyone wants something.

"What do you want?"

Too easy. I've already told you. The question is what do you want?

Luke avoided the question. "You want me to help you."

In the short term, yes.

"So why should I? If you're the villain in the story."

Make me your villain, make me your hero. It doesn't matter in the end. All that matters is we both get want we want.

"And you care more about yourself than me. And I should do the same."

Luke could positively hear the titan's smile.

Now you're catching on.

O

Mostly, he felt numb.

He wasn't sure if he'd always been this way – if this melancholy had just been lurking on the back burners of his brain until an excuse could drive them forward or if it really was all about Thalia. He'd have liked to think it was all about Thalia, but he knew his mother. Knew his family. Knew himself. It was more likely the former.

But, fuck – he missed Thalia.

What had it been? Two months since her death. Two months since his arrival at Camp Half-Blood. One since Percy, the legendary Minotaur slayer's arrival. His raging pain had faded to a dull ache, running in and out through his wrists in waves.

Percy's infamy had spread through camp like wildfire. As a slayer of the Minotaur, first, and secondly as the second prodigy of swordsmanship the camp had seen in a hundred years.

Where Luke was the first.

This artificial rivalry the campers had construed had them baying at each others' throats – trying to find the upper hand, trying to be better.

And for what?

To survive a quest?

The reality of the situation that no one was saying was they were screaming out for the attention of the gods. Percy wanted to be claimed. Luke wanted to be claimed. Both could disarm the sons of Ares.

The fuck did it take?

As the months had droned on, Luke had seen three quests go by. Nothing new, or interesting, but reiterations of quests achieved by legendary heroes of old. Killing the Nemean Lion. Slaying Medusa. Cleaning a fucking stable.

A fucking stable.

By the fourth month, Luke didn't care about Hermes anymore. Luke wanted a quest. Desperately.

It became what he worked for. His devotion. Hours, weeks, spent in the arena – practicing every minute learning every disarming trick that Chiron could teach him. He buried his head into strategy books. When he offered a portion of his dinner to the gods, he no longer prayed to Hermes. He prayed to Ares. To Athena. To war.

He didn't need to pray to Kronos to get his input.

While your tenacity is admirable, I'm doubting a stable cleaner needs to have the Art of War memorized.

"Whatever it takes."

Whatever it takes to what? Prove to your daddy that his son can repeat what someone else already did? Come on, Castellan. You can dream bigger.

"I will be worthy of my father."

Kronos was more of a chuckler than a giggler. But now he laughed in bellows.

Worthy- Luke. Castellan. You're not worth the dirt of the bottom of an Olympian's fancy little sandal. Not to them. You must know that by now. You're the best swordsman in camp, no?

"I'm trying to be."  
And succeeding. My point precisely. Hermes won't care until he needs you. You are an expendable tool in his armory. Perhaps a useful one, but expendable none the less. These so-called "quests" only keep you fit for the off-chance they need you to do something that might mildly inconvenience them. You live a sham, boy.

"You're wrong."

You need proof. I can respect that. So see for yourself. Ask for your quest and when you repeat what thirteen different Heracles and Achilles have before you – come talk to me.

"Why?"

Because together, we can do something that matters.

Chiron hardly raised an eyebrow when he asked for a quest, as he stood beneath the Big House's porch. Dionysus and he were playing some board game on rickety picnic table while the sipped soda from wine glasses. He didn't even want to ask.

"A quest? You've only been here four months."

Four months and the hot autumn faded into a calm gray of winter. Not that in snowed in camp borders. Unless Zeus wanted it to.

"And I've already bested Clarisse and most of her cabin mates. I'm ready."

"There's more to a quest then swordplay, Luke."

He grit his teeth. "Let me try."

Dionysus commented when no one wanted him to. "Well, let him go, Chiron. If the boy wants to die in the jaw of the Chimera – by all means let him. The camp will be a happier place for it once we lose this pity-party."

Chiron had the decency to look offended for Luke's sake. "If it's want you truly want – we won't stop you." He motioned to the screened door. "In the attic, you'll find the Oracle."

"You keep the Oracle in the attic?"

Dionysus chuckled, "What's left of her, anyway."

Chiron frowned. "Approach her. If she doesn't give you a prophecy, come back to me and I will give you your quest."

Kronos snorted.

"Not a word, titan. Not a fucking word."

He stepped cautiously up the creaky stairs, into the dimly lit attic. It was musty, the smell, and the windows had curtains drawn across them. It was hard to see, but he could see her. As Mr. D has said anyway, what was left of her.

The mummy looked frail.

It made him feel sick.

"Oracle?" He asked softly, coming to kneel before her.

Nothing.  
"Oracle, will you speak?"

Silence.

"Oracle. My name is Luke. I've come for a quest."

He waited for an hour, in the cold musty attic.

The Oracle never spoke.

He returned to Chiron.

"Well?"

"No prophecy." he said.

"Ah. Well, then we ask you to claim an apple of the Hesperides."

Luke frowned. "Hercules did that."

"Good! He did and dare I say it was one of his hardest labors." He smiled softly with a look in his eyes he probably thought was encouraging. "I know you can do it."

He was briefed then, by some of the Athena cabin, and asked if he wanted a team. He shook his head.

"Where's Annabeth?" he asked.

"With Percy." Answered Malcolm, the cabin's counselor.

"With Percy." He echoed. The counselor looked at him strangely.

"Yes, at the docks."

Luke went to the docks. He didn't know why. He didn't have any plans of asking Annabeth to accompany him. His legs felt some compulsion, his arms felt the need to move him.

Gracelessly, he found the two sitting on the mooring pier, overlooking a glorious sunset of amaranth and orange haze. The scene was picturesque, but as Luke approached – their illusion faded. Annabeth was holding his hand but her face was curled into a sneer.

"They can't be serious." She was saying. "A quest like that… you're not ready!"  
"I am." Said Percy defiantly. "I'm the best swordsman in camp-"  
"We both know Luke is better."  
Percy flushed. "I can do this Annabeth. The Oracle has spoken."

It stopped him cold in his tracks.

"The Oracle spoke to you?" He asked.

The two spun.

"Luke," Percy stammered, "uh… well, I don't know what you heard but-"  
"We're about even." He said. "What did she say?"  
Annabeth looked annoyed. "This is a private conversation-"  
"It's okay, wise girl."

Her jaw clenched.

"The Oracle asked me to find Thea and bring her to Olympus."  
"Thea?"

"Yeah."

"The titan?"  
"Yeah."

"There's never been a quest to capture a titan before."

He shrugged.

"I guess not."  
"Who will you bring?""Annabeth," he said immediately. Then he looked uncomfortable. "And Grover."

"And that's you're three then?"

"Yeah."  
Luke breathed deeply and focused onto the horizon. He watched as the colors faded then, from something so piercing into something fleeting and dark.

Percy and Annabeth fidgeted.

"Then good luck." He said and he meant it. "Good luck."

**there are typos. that is a statement, not a question - i apologize. **


End file.
